Nightmares
by samurai-ashes
Summary: Ryou suffered from nightmares. That was the politically correct way to say it. The RIGHT way would be ‘Ryou was losing his mind.’ [BakuraxRyou - angst]


**_ashes doesn't own yu-gi-oh. so? I bet you don't either. no, don't cry, I was just being bitter. ^^_**

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**- author runs over there -**  
o.O Just like "Damaging Innocence," I'm not so sure I get WHY I wrote this, but I did, and I like how it turned out. 

The original idea came from listening to Metallica one night while doing dishes; I was listening to "enter sandman," and I got the idea of Yuugi having nightmares - nightmares caused by Yami. Then it occurred to me that I couldn't really imagine Yami & Yuugi in that sort of situation. "But!" I said to myself dramatically, brandishing a fork (don't think I'm kidding, I did), "Bakura could!" 

But everything outside the idea of Ryou having 'nightmares'… just sort of happened. Hope it's at least interesting… 

OH! As for the pigeon thing... I'm sorry -- bad attempt at humor, you know? But hell, man, somehow "ku ku ku" doesn't strike me as a very evil way of laughing! 

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Ryou suffered from nightmares. That was the politically correct way to say it. The RIGHT way would be 'Ryou was losing his mind.' Quite unfortunate that he was fond of his mind; he would miss it when it finally left. 

The nightmares weren't the only reason he was sure that he was psychotic. If he intended to be politically correct about his insanity, he would have to add that he sleepwalked. At least, he thought that he sleepwalked; that was the only reasonable explanation he had for waking up with blood on his hands. Most of the time the blood was his, and he would find the gashes responsible - usually on his arms, once on his side. Even more frightening was when he couldn't find any open wounds to explain the blood; he could only conclude that the blood then belonged to something else. He preferred finding strange cuts… Of course, it was none-too-comforting that he had no clue where the wounds were coming from. Or why he was getting them. 

Ryou's insanity continued beyond the blood, beyond the nightmares that weren't nightmares at all. He suspected he was possessed, that his house was haunted. He once brought a psychic to his house, hoping for an answer. He only remembered half of the meeting; the next thing he could remember she was gone, and he woke up on his couch, blood on his hands. He was pretty sure it was her blood, but it wasn't like he was going to go have it checked out. He could just imagine it: _Excuse me, could you test this blood and tell me who it belongs to? You see, I suspect that I killed someone behind my own back, and I'd like to know who_. Somehow, that option just didn't seem at all plausible to Ryou. But the ghost, the "possession"… he kept hearing things in his head. Voices. Pigeons. He actually couldn't figure out if there was a pigeon in his head, or if the ghost had a weird sense of humor and made noises to confuse him. Seemed logical. Either that or he was possessed by a bird. Somehow, anything seemed possible. 

But back to the nightmares - the reason he was awake in the middle of the night, sheets tangled around his legs, sweat dampening his skin. The nightmares that weren't really nightmares at all, the nightmares that made him ache in ways that a nightmare shouldn't, that a nightmare couldn't… 

--

It sort of gave a new meaning to "go fuck yourself." 

In the dream Ryou always approached a white-haired figure, sometimes mistaking it for a relative - hoping, really. He always gasped as intense brown eyes met his… he never looked away. His nerves would flutter as the strange man's lips curved in a smile. "Looking for me again?" he'd ask, and Ryou would nod wordlessly, even though he hadn't really been looking for the man at all. "Some sort of masochist, little one." He clicked his tongue. 

"I-I…" Once Ryou examined the man - and he always did, even though he knew what he would see - he realized the similarities in them. They were near identical, with miniscule differences. The man's features were always harsher; he was taller; his hands were rougher. There was a dangerous edge to his voice, something that Ryou could never master. He was like Ryou's reflection - if the mirror were tinted. "Who..?" 

The man would click his tongue again. "But you already know that. Foolish; so foolish." The man would look disgusted. "I swear this is part of my punishment." Ryou wouldn't get a chance to ask what that was supposed to mean before the man would have him by the wrists, would shove him down into his own bed. Sometimes Ryou would struggle, and sometimes he wouldn't. Most of the time he was too busy wondering how they had arrived in his room, and wondered how much was a dream, and if anything was real. 

Reality had never seemed so irresolute before the nightmares. 

The dark man always pinned him down to his bed, claimed his lips, marked him and branded him with searing kisses and sharp scratches. Ryou would never fight then - he would be too stunned, too turned on - too willing - to care that he was being molested by a stranger. Somewhere in his mind he would promise himself that it was a dream, that nothing was real. 

Then the dream would get darker - literally: everything would cloud over. Ryou wouldn't be able to see, and he'd begin to panic. The man's hands would tear at his clothes, expose him, and those lips would trail over his skin. Teeth would dip into the delicate flesh of Ryou's thighs, his belly, his shoulders, his neck - no skin was safe from those bites. Sometimes he would cry in fear, and sometimes the man would strike him. That was when the dream changed; each time he had it the circumstances of what happened changed. The worst part was that Ryou really didn't care; something in him demanded the attention, abusive as it was. Part of him WANTED that strange man to take him for all he was worth. 

The man always did; he would amuse himself with tormenting Ryou, and then he would own him, take him. Once he had even told Ryou such - that Ryou belonged to him. He had warned Ryou that he didn't share. 

Ryou wondered if that explained why his friends kept disappearing. 

After the man was done with him it was always the same. He would croon in Ryou's ear, "So foolish, so naïve. So very beautiful. You'll seek me again, _hikari_." 

--

Ryou always woke up with the word "_hikari_" ringing in his ears. An endearment? He didn't understand - and he wasn't so sure that he wanted to, wasn't so sure that he could handle it. 

He had woken up from such a dream and was confused as always. He leaned forward onto his elbows, cradling his head in his hands. 

He was losing his mind. 

There were bruises on his thighs; there was a faint bite mark on his shoulder; scratches decorated his back and chest. 

But it was all a dream - a dream lover couldn't leave marks, no matter how rough. That man wasn't real. 

Ryou was just as sore as if it had been real. 

But it couldn't be. 

"_Hikari_…" Ryou panicked; there it was again… the pigeon? And that word, the word that haunted him… 

"Go away," he murmured to himself, voice coming out in a half-choked sob. He felt panic rise in his chest, and he continued, "Stop it. I don't want to have these dreams. I don't want to find blood anymore; I don't want anymore wounds I can't explain. I don't want to go insane." 

The noise didn't stop. 

Not that Ryou had expected it to. How could talking to himself suddenly cure whatever was wrong with him? He didn't stop; it felt like his last alternative. "Stop! I don't want…" 

"Don't want what?" The words were so faint, so unreal, that Ryou barely heard them at all. But that voice, that sharp edge…! Ryou's head whipped up, and he scanned the room frantically, eyes piercing dark corners. Nothing; there was no one there. Oh god, he really was insane. There was no other explanation. There was no avoiding it. Tears burned his eyes. "No… stop." He didn't know who he was begging. If anything, it confirmed his insanity. 

He felt it. Familiar warmth, like being submersed in hot water, like drowning. The same way it always felt before he forgot. "Please," he sobbed to himself, letting his face fall to his hands again. He knew he was fighting a loosing battle - he just wished he knew who it was against. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see his vision blur, so he wouldn't see reality fade away. 

Whatever reality was. 

**-end-**


End file.
